Tagged: feminism

Dangerous Naivety

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Skipped drinking
Never could find a seat
At the bar
Skipped driving
Crashing everyone else’s
Car
The wrists barbed wire
Barbarous world
Convict the girls
If I grow tired
For the male empire
Masculine empire

If I fall
Just look away
Feel the shame
All damned day

If I break
Cherish what’s at stake
Don’t forget to take
What is made
Can’t forget to get paid
The shaking hand staid
Shooting up in the terminal
Flight delayed
Addictions relayed

The children crowd in suburban street
Plastic fork paper plate
Knights of the round table
The soft water burns the pores on my face

I love you most
Ensnared in your curls
The span of your Arms
And the world In Between
The cold sweats of hell
And the burning of thighs parted

Wide eyed

When the child asks,

Why must the dresses burn

And why must a love of literature

Turn me and my agency

To kindling?

Or any curiosity of a child

Wriggling beneath the surface

Just as entitled to the answers

As yourself.
It makes me nauseous too
The way they turn away
Disappointed

Like a disease
The gangrene up her arm
Severed above the elbow
To keep from spreading

Keep very still
Maybe they won’t see
The little creatures
Passing knock knock jokes
At the front of the bus
Their small signs of admiration
Their shadowed affection
Spreads like hellfire

A pleasure to the eye
But nothing “beautiful”
The words buzz like
Time
You get lost in a story
No
A government document
Pit filled, unedited dribble
Only to find you’re dissatisfied
When it ends
Looking back
At the camps
Fondly

It’s Only Natural

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a stone does not mean to be cruel
contained in arrogance
it just is


nations perpetually christened
in genocide
but they must be


domineering husbands
and the bartender
has a fat lip
but she has to


sacrifice the women,
the children
anything
for the survival
of the white man.

the oligarchy has finished eating
kind enough
to feed us the crust
embezzled with the phlegm
of each of their celestial
C.E.O.s

multi colored
multi variables
some reek of mustard gas
some are only stale,
with cyanide following,


silent
others biZzare shades and huEs
anti freeze: bright blue
but finally another knot in my stomach
and the sweet taste in my mouth.

Bastards

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“I can fuck any bitch I want”

Rattling off foul consonances and vowels

The terrible mantra boys

Chant off in the school yard

Like throwing mud on the third

Grade sweetheart

That makes their mother so ashamed

Ironic

They can say these things

Off the cuff

When the father

They’ve never met

Sits at a bar in Mexico

Says the exact same things

About their mothers.

We know how it feels to sit

On top of the world

And spit on the creatures below

Like birds on a telephone wire

Waiting for the one wearing

The worst day

To add insult to injury

Meninism: Closer to the Truth

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I still see your face everywhere I go

The sordid expression

Menacing whispers of pain

If I didn’t have to hurt

Would you remain so

Armed and guarded?

Ready to take the tip of the tongue

From any sweet talking man?

Would you remain

A warrior christened in blood?

A Feminine Ball of Yarn

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*Written from a woman’s perspective.

 

Tufts of thread out of the palm of his hand. A spool of yarn slowly undone down curling dirt roads. Our steps are not our own as we’re dragged down the trail littered with pot holes, but we refuse to let the yarn hit the ground as we grow smaller and the man’s smiling face is far, his only sign a taut string following the curves in the horizon. I know I must be minuscule before I can gather myself to that smiling man for I am unwound. The strand frays and I struggle to stay inches above the cakes of mud.

To Choose Life

Times without number, taken in fluted reed Could be the dancer who Swore she would no, could not, hang up her shoes Neglect that spirit within who urged to move Still now, decades pass She has lost her edges, she is a filament of someone who Once danced in fury in all her youth and […]

via So quickly we forget the steps — thefeatheredsleep

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And he can’t tell if those are callouses at the end of her toes

Or bloated cherries, boils oozing puss

At the end of each of the fifths of her tapering feet.

He shames her from progress

As she grows strong

Towering over the people

The industries, infrastructures,

Sizing up sky scrapers,

 

He’s shrunk

Feels as a stain on the sidewalk

For the ego kept him strong

Termite infested crutches

Fire licking away at

The wood’s soft center

And he doesn’t have

A leg to stand on.

 

The footprints

Left across her malleable frame

We send Mother to the camps

Get her working in the lines,

Heaven knows if ma

Gets out of hand

Gaia will swallow us whole

 

They carve away

Beneath the surface

Rotting jack o lantern

Toss the slop in the trash

Her vital organs.

We’ve progressed

From butcher house cutting board

To scabbing through

demonstration

flanking Planned Parenthood

for the surrender

The only thing worse

To make the choice

“Life,”

Not death

Condemned

For loving the little she had

Malingering Justice

We talk daily about stemming the spate of violence against women. We pay lip service about punishing offenders, but when is justice really served. When a judge sentences a privileged white man to six months in prison for brutally raping a woman what message is that sending to others like him? The Judge in the […]

via WHEN WILL WOMEN GET JUSTICE — MARVA SEATON BLOG

Thank you. There aren’t enough people talking about this. There aren’t enough people angry about this and it may feel that it doesn’t matter, but it’s another step, and womyn’s rights are getting somewhere.

 

Malingering Justice Picture

 

Brandished wildly

Desecrate by

The same dumping ground

You’re still, silent

But you’re howling

Ice cubes melt

From your face

Frigid, moist

Engulfed in tides

 He is

Submerged

Moving one with the

power, one with

Hate.

He thinks about what

It’d really be like

To dominate

He holds the devil

So close when he dances

I can’t tell man

From beast

To live in that strange,

Dark continent

Watching, waiting,

To sprinkle the sand

over her eyes

He’s embraced her dark corner.

He violated those dark corners

A dream of what

Could have been

Burning in the oil fire

Convention begets violation

From the law

To chivalry

To the gilded athletes,

Devouring, dissipating

Our children’s survival;

Our future

But it’s convenient

To stay in your

Burning home

When it’s cold

Outside.

And the judge doesn’t bat a lash

Sewing the stitches

Through the labia

Of woman’s humanity

And releasing

Mad, parched dogs,

After a night in the pen.

For the growl is heard

At all hours of the night

And her figure is ravished

Perforated teeth mark turf

As he chews on her

Under the guiding hand

Of “justice”

The Scarlet Cooler

Her toes sink into the mud
cold beers daddy pulls out of
the cooler
she lays on the blanket
lifting her skirt

feeling the warm sun
on the back of her thighs
he watches
drinking cold corona
out of his scarlet cooler
the scared yet?
cooler
darker than blood

She lifts her foot
but the mud rises
daddys drinking cold corona
out of his red cooler
she shrieks disbelief
“Daddy why?
Daddy
I don’t want to die”

His head spins
“where’d that little
bitch
run to?”
grabbing her by the wrist
he pulls
“Daddy it hurts”

He grazes the crotch of his jeans
and he pulls
“STOP DAD”

“shut up”

she cries
screams
he hears a crack
and her arm lies limp at her side

Lifting her over his shoulder
his hand on the back of her thighs

standing erect
slurring
bronze

“My arm Daddy.”

Lying her down on the blanket
he cracks open another beer

Modern Day Monroe

She stands at the bus stop
Monroe piercing
lonely, starry-eyed
she sifts through the gutters
for halvsies
and whatever smells
of marijuana

She stands
four inch heels
waiting for the number 6
so she can get to the poor part of time
town

and suck the cocks of men
that resembles her father
loosely
and for money
the last time she saw her father
posters of Monroe paved plaster
and stuck her face
for the name

she tried college
her report card
consistent
A big red C-A-B
Passing, sucking off
back of a C-A-B
the best grade she’ll recieve
until after he cums.

Daddy always read the big words
out loud
She was an investment
So he’d sound it out for her

I-N-C-A-R-C-E-R-A-T-I-O-N

Sometimes when she’s working
she remembers laying on the couch
her legs on his lap 

I-N-C-A-R-C-E-R-A-T-I-O-N

Now he knows the definition better than anyone
and she still loves, but fails to forgive

there are some words in that dictionary
too foul to remember. 

The Evolution of Language

Only I can see it. They’re like tumors. They bulge from the apex of the back of their head.
Here it remains dormant.

The eyes are relaxed, once shifty eyed, now slightly glazed. The pink candy bubblegum turns grey. The bubble grows, I can see the tumor perched on the back of her skull slowly deflate, slowly, it is consumed.

Elsewhere, I see it burst from his lips. Spewing like puss from a straining pimple.
“BITCH”
The letters wrap around the walls of the expanding bubble gum. The pink goo from her pursued lips is stained. A single drop of black dye
in a rainbow
makes grey.

It’s thick. It pops, oil dripping down her supple frame.
It’s acidic, the clothing burns away and she stands fragile, naked.

The tar streaks her skin.

As the syllable is finished, and the teeth and the tongue collide with the final “tch.”

The match dropped at her feet, she bursts into flame. She wails, running to the faces around her, but the men don’t know what it’s like to burn, and the women are silenced behind their candy bubble gum. Behind that dull demeanor, they pray for the health of their burning sister.

Her skin blisters, her body cries, pus dripping out of the swelling boils. They pass, avoid eye contact.

A modest pile of cigarette ash in the corner. It’s only a passing moment and she’s made again. She rises from the ashes, a new tumor on the back of her head, and bubble gum inflating from her chapped lips.